Unforgivable
by SeraSearaSpin
Summary: Rage causes people to do things that can never be undone. Civil War spoilers.
**It's been almost a year since I've last updated anything, and surprise surprise it's Avengers fanfiction clear out of the middle of nowhere when I've never written any before because Civil War gave me feelings and I don't like that/ I haven't been able to find a fic that's _just so_ , so I've gotta make my own so it'll stop bothering me and I'll hopefully experience a little catharsis and get back into the swing of actually writing things.**

 **Sorry about the ungodly long wait on The Umbrella Salesman & Entropy, I haven't been feeling in very high spirits recently and life's just been a drag. Motivation's lacking, especially since Noro died and there's all this drama in Cochlea that I'm conflicted about. Like, on one hand I really want to see Rue Island again, but on the other, I'm afraid that as soon as we get back to Rue Island, Aogiri Tree will be wiped out and all my faves will be gone forever and then what will I do? Hopefully I'll be able to get the next chapter of Entropy out before June & get myself back on track. Anyway you're not here to read to me rambling about myself and Tokyo Ghoul, you're here for your Avengers fic. I hope you like it.**

* * *

It's not a fair fight. Two on one? It's unfair. _Unfair._ The suit can only hold off so many blows at once, but Tony is not about to stop. _Bucky killed my parents. Steve knew about this. I really...I really can't trust them. I can't trust any of them._ But thinking too much would drag him down, and there was always time for panic and stuffing his palms into his mouth and biting down as hard as he could to reaffirm that he's a real person and not somebody's dreamed up idea of a superhero and pretending that he'll always be loved when really, _really,_ that's one of the most unrealistic dreams he's ever thought up.

So instead he focuses on his rage, and on dodging, blocking, getting in his own strikes, being hit, wash, rinse, repeat. He ducks - the great and fantastic Captain America, the model of real American values like honesty, integrity ( _tony laughs bitterly inside his head - what a joke. what a real funny guy. honesty. integrity._ _from_ this _man._ ) misses his suited up head when he swings that shield, and even though he's already realized his mistake and is pulling his punches, Steve hits Bucky anyway. The stupid, stupid friend who just _had_ to go and ruin everything. _Remnants from the past are worth nothing._ Tony can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction when the murderer staggers back a little, and Steve ( _no, we're calling him Captain America now, we're being the most distant we can be, I don't want anything to do with him anymore_ ) looks almost apologetic, and in this moment where they're looking at each other Tony has his opening.

He lunges for Bucky, grabs that stupid murdering metal wrist with enough strength to dent it, applies force. Twists a little. The arm rips free, and Bucky lets loose a howl of pain that only fanned the rage that consumes him. _He's distracted now. Time for the killing blow._ And right here, right now, the ( _ex)_ Winter Soldier would've died, but for Captain America grabbing his arm and pulling him back, diverting the worst of the laser pulse into the ceiling. Cement crumbles and cracks and Bucky is launched across the room anyway. Hit the cement. Rolled over. Didn't move.

Tony smiles under his mask, but his victory is short-lived. Now livid with rage, Captain America turns to him, barraging the suit with a series of rapidfire punches and swipes with that shield and he barely has a chance to bring his hands up to try to defend himself. Defense is mostly what he's doing now, but the suit is still sustaining damage, and once that's destroyed, there's no telling what Steve will do to him in this state.

 _Shit, I thought his name again. Shit. Shit. I've gotta stop that. I've gotta forget about him._

"Friday, analyze his fighting pattern," he said, now backed against the wall, watching Captain America ( _not Steve.)_ rage outside his helmet like a not-so-distant thunderstorm. "And make it snappy."

A few moments later, blinking blue lines highlight the pattern, how he should dodge, and more importantly, what he should do to break it. He brings up his right arm just as Steve ( _fuck i did it again_ ) has finished a downwards swipe with that shield and gets in a solid punch to the side of his face. Metal scrapes along flesh. He bleeds, and shock lights up in those blue eyes. Tony doesn't give him another moment to react - he aims his palms at the center of that broad chest and fires, and only quick reflexes saves the Cap from being burnt in half right there. As it is, he's launched clear across the room. He hits a concrete support. He falls to the ground, spits up a little blood, and a metal foot catches him in the side, knocks him over, he rolls double and a scorch mark burns the ground where he was just a second earlier.

 _Something's definitely broken._ Steve doesn't get up quite yet, feeling his ribs for injury, and prepared for Tony's ( _i have to call him iron man. if we're going to be like this. i have to stop thinking of him as a friend._ ) next attack. It doesn't come, and he looks up to see the battered red and gold standing over Bucky, palm cannon glowing. "It didn't have to be like this, Cap," says Iron Man, and there's something like regret in his voice.

It's instinctive when Steve uncoils, wincing as the pain in his side escalates from _okay, that really hurts_ to _i think i've punctured a lung,_ and flings his shield across the room. It deflects the blast, sends it back at its creator. The gauntlets are smoking now, useless, and Iron Man growls his frustration, prepares one of his wrist missiles, and he's all out, and Steve's back on his feet, wobbling slightly, blood matting his hair. It drips down by his eyes, he smells hot metal, and he picks up his shield, flings himself between Iron Man and Bucky.

"If you want to get to him, you'll have to go through me." His voice wavers. He hates that it shakes, but he will not allow his friend to be destroyed. _Not on my watch._

"So be it." The careless indifference with which Tony ( _Iron Man. Not Tony. I don't know a Tony anymore.)_ says those three words incenses Steve, and he charges forwards with a feral cry that takes the otherby surprise. He doesn't have a chance to react before he's knocked down, against the same pillar Steve had hit just seconds ago, and he's on him like a wild thing. He tears at that emotionless golden face mask, bashes it over and over again with his shield. It rings hollow and empty.

 _You have no right to pretend you're composed under there. You can't hide behind metal masks forever._

Steve wasn't aware that he hadn't said that aloud. He could've sworn he forced it through gritted teeth, that Iron Man was laughing at his idealism, and he saw Bucky's reflection in the bruised golden metal. Lying there unmoving, as if he were no more than a lump of flesh. _Schrodinger's Bucky - either alive or dead until his pulse is checked._ And thinking about what Iron Man has done to his friend floods every vein in his body with acid - there is no surrender, no retreat - there is the here and now, and he is going to make Iron Man to pay for what he's done.

One more furious blow rained down, and the ringing held a different note - the toasted gauntlets and the mask both finally disengaging, and Steve sees the face of his enemy, pale and drawn and furious and absolutely unwilling to back down even one step. The worst kind of enemy is the kind that believes they're right, and there's only one way to prove that they're wrong.

Steve brings up the shield, sees Bucky in the reflection and is reassured what he's doing is right, renewing his strength, and he looks coldly upon the enemy, who flings up his bare hands over his neck as a last ditch effort to save himself.

The shield comes down, sure as a guillotine. It goes right through the connection between the metacarpals and the bones of the arm as clean as a hot knife through butter. Easy. Simple. Final.

But butter doesn't bleed, and pieces of it don't fall off, and the shield finishes its downwards strike by burying itself halfway through the soft, exposed throat, and only now he knows what he's done. There's blood. And Iron Man.

( _no, fuck that, forget about that. i can't keep this up, not now, not ever, and_ )

Tony Stark. ( _his friend?_ ) His throat half slit, he's bleeding to death. Right here, right now, his fault. _My fault. My fault._

Captain America scrambles backwards a few feet, breathing hard, the exhaustion replacing the fire and his hands are shaking and he's supposed to be brave, strong, the embodiment of freedom, but here, he's just weak. Selfish. An idiot. He's killed - he's killed before, but not like this. Never like this. He's not supposed to kill his allies. His _friends._ And. While he's sitting here making up philosophy in his head, there's something like whistling and there's something bubbling and god, _he's still alive, god, what do i do_? Medicine was never his specialty - in the army, he was all about the fight.

 _Taking out the shield would make him bleed more, yeah? Yes, but can I afford to leave it in? It's probably best if I do? But isn't there also something about lungs deflating or depressurizing or something or...I just don't know. I'm useless here. Medical assistance. He needs to call medical assistance. Steve_ scrabbles around fruitlessly for a phone before he remembers - this is thie middle of Siberia, nobody knows where they are, there's nobody to call that will ever get here in side, the only person here is Bucky, lying unconscious ( _oh god i hope he's just unconscious)_ and his arm is ruined. And Zemo is probably skulking somewhere around here but who cares. Who gives a fuck. This is what he wanted, he brought us all together so we could fight and Tony is dying and his hands are lying on the ground like oversize bloody dead spiders and this is what Zemo wanted and it's all my fault. _My fault_.

Tony slowly turns his head, dark eyes wet with tears and shock and horror and worst of all, betrayal. The blood bubbles around the shield embedded in his throat and his breath is slowly whistling out of him and he's dying. _My friend is dying._ Steve sees Tony's lips moving, he's trying to say something, and he draws closer and there's blood here too of course, there's blood pulsing out of the corners of his mouth and running down the sides of his face and that's not even mentioning the constant bloody flow from the amputated stumps of his wrists. There's so much blood. He's killed before but he doesn't ever remember there being this much blood.

Steve looks at Tony's lips, as obscured with blood as they are, and he tries again to see the words off them. His eyes are stinging and he knows that sooner or later the tears are going to spill over like they did at Peggy's funeral. Blink, blink. He forces them away, and finally reads the words off them. It feels like a sucker punch to the gut and now the tears fog his vision, and when he can see clearly again, Tony's lips have stopped moving and the blood's finally slowed to a trickly and he's pale. So pale. Everyone always says people are vulnerable in death, and this is no different - he looks too small for his suit, as if he were a child again, perhaps a teenager seeing his parents off for the last time before they were killed. His eyes are still open, glassy now, still loaded with that mix of emotions that felt like a knife.

First: _That shield does not belong to you._

A pause. He sucked in air, slowly, carefully.

Second: I _will never forgive you._

That's what he said, the words off his lips. That's what Tony was trying to tell him, spending his last few efforts to make sure that he knows this, and _god, he's dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. I killed him. God I never intended for it to end like this - there were supposed to be no casualties - this wasn't supposed to happen. I had it all planned out - he'd leave, I'd write him a letter a few months later, enclose a phone. And maybe maybe maybe we could get back together again and maybe think about being friends again but god. No. I ruined it. I killed him. How could I have done this - I've ruined everything - he hates me - I don't - I don't want this. I-_

Behind him, Bucky moans, and the relief is so strong Steve's head spins ( _or maybe that's his own fair share of blood loss and bruises catching up to him_ ), but he spends a little longer looking at Tony's corpse. He can't bring himself to look away from those dead eyes, and he wants to close their lids, but he knows he doesn't deserve the relief it would bring him. He can't imagine that Tony's at peace. Not in this way. _I have ruined everything._

* * *

Three days have passed and Bucky's in ice again. His long-time friend knows something's wrong, but Steve felt that he's played it down enough that it wouldn't worry him. T'challa knows something's happened, but he doesn't ask. He doesn't have to - three people went in. Two people came out. _(one person went back in and came out with a bloody sheet. what else is there to know._ _what is there to ask about. what am i going to do_ ) _(with his corpse)_

He knows Nat is gonna call him soon, asking after Tony. He doesn't know what he'll tell her. When the phone rings, he stares at it a long time and decides not to pick it up, instead choosing to stare at his hands and hate himself.

Presently, the phone stops ringing. He looks up. T'challa hands it to him. "It's for you," he says. His voice and face are completely neutral, betraying no emotion. His eyes are telling, though, dark ( _like tony's_ ) and they know, they know what he's done, and Steve can't look at him for long.

He closes his eyes and puts the phone to his ear.


End file.
